Woman's medical drama solved when she gets her man - and far more

Nicole Munda, who was turning 29 in 2001, had never been to a NASCAR race at that point in time.

Then a friend invited her to make the 4½-hour drive from her home in Las Vegas to the Phoenix International Raceway.

Young people in their 20s don't normally require liver transplants. But, as the Mayo Clinic confirmed, she was an exception. 

In other words, when the time came, a family member in excellent health would be an ideal candidate as a donor.

Munda's dark hair wafted in the breeze as her smile - hidden quite a bit lately - lit up her face. Maybe this would be a fun day after all, she thought.

Scooting past eight or nine people in the aisle, she sat down next to a young man in a cowboy hat. 

Her affable friend on her left took no time in making friends with the good-looking person to her right. "Where are you from?" she shouted above the roaring engines. 

"About 750 miles from here. Carlin, Nevada," he responded.

"That's where she's from," said the friend on the left, nodding at Munda.

"Really?" said the stranger.

"It's where I grew up," said Munda. "I live in Vegas now."

As they formally introduced themselves, the new friend, Jess Coleman, looked at her for a moment. 

Finally, he said, "Hey, I know you! I ride in a carpool with your mom."

"You've got to be kidding!"

After a few comments about how incredible that was, Coleman said something else that almost knocked her out of her seat: "How are you feeling?"

She was thinking, How could you know anything about my liver disease?

As she looked at him in astonishment, he shrugged. "It's a carpool. I hear your mom talking to you on the phone."

"Would be sitting next to each other in a stadium of 125,000 screaming people?"

Coleman then had another revelation, as he later shared. He paused, then looked right into her eyes. "Hey, I think I have a picture of you on my shelf!"

"What? What are you talking about?" she said, laughing. 

"Were you on a whitewater rafting trip a couple of years ago?"

She nodded.

When Coleman returned home, he wasted no time in calling Munda in Vegas. They talked for hours. 

Pretty soon, he was driving down from Carlin every weekend - and within four months their love was in full bloom. 

He asked her to marry him and she said yes. The couple set a date for three months after that.

While falling in love was pretty darn good medicine for Nicole Munda's spirits, her liver disease took no time off - it rapidly worsened.

Coleman became helpful support for her. He encouraged her when she was depressed and helped in tracking down cousins and other possible donors in the family tree. Unfortunately, none of the appeals succeeded.

Then, just prior to the big day, doctors delivered shocking news. 

And if so, they would need to remove the liver. 

In other words, they couldn't operate unless she had a donor waiting to provide 60% of his or her liver.

Coleman begged the doctors to test him. Why couldn't he be a donor candidate?

Resistant at first, the doctors finally accepted his rationale. He was going to be her husband, after all - so wouldn't that qualify as being "emotionally connected"? The doctors agreed to take the first steps. Test him.  

The couple proceeded with their wedding.   

Family and friends gathered to celebrate the couple's new journey, while most also prayed that the terrible uncertainty hanging over their heads would be removed and that Munda would have a donor.

Instead of a traditional honeymoon, the happy young couple headed to Mayo Clinic in Phoenix. 

Within hours, they had the start of good news. 

Coleman was the same rare blood type as Munda, the same size physically - and in perfect health. That led to an arduous and week-long battery of tests.

Within a few weeks, the groom gave the bride the most beautiful wedding present ever: the gift of life.

As they recuperated in side-by-side beds, the newlyweds had plenty of time to count all the blessings they'd been given - not to mention a bushel of amazing Godwinks.